


blue rose

by thekuroiookami



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Sassy, Soft Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/pseuds/thekuroiookami
Summary: What's a girl to do when a Dark Slayer won't cooperate in her attempts to get cozy?Kiss him senseless, probably.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	blue rose

You can't resist the ebb of tides, or the flow of time. So they say.

But Vergil has seen time bent like a metal in a forge, and tides can probably be banished with a well-timed application of Yamato.

Vergil does not believe, however, that he has any hope of resisting you.

Case in point: today.

It's movie night for you and Vergil. Members of the mafia die in artistic blood splatter, in between shooting off apocalyptic one-liners and consuming dizzying amounts of alcohol. Vergil has to conclude that the realism of it is, at best, dubious.

He rests his chin on your head, eyes on the screen. You nestle into his chest, sitting contentedly between his knees with a bowl of ice cream in your hands. Warmth spreads from where your back meets his chest. It's a position he finds strangely comforting, and not just because he can shield you from the world with his body.

"Oh," you murmur. "That's awkward."

"Hm?" He refocuses on the drama unfolding in front of him. A rather graphic sexual encounter is taking place, complete with fabric tearing and breathy noises. "Oh. Does this bother you?"

He hadn't taken you for someone to be embarrassed by this.

"Yes. Well, no- I mean, it's not the sex but the weirdness of it. Do you know how hard it is to stand in heels that high, let alone have sex in them?"

He hides a smile of amusement in your hair. "No."

"Well, let's say, it's not quite Qliphoth level, but it would be like taking on an angry Nero."

“That is not difficult. The more hot-headed he gets, the more finesse he lacks.”

“Fine, I should have known it would be the wrong metaphor. Just take my word for it, okay? TV is not very good at showing sex like it is.”

Hmm. "I hadn't given it much thought."

"Stilettos? People hardly ever do."

"Lovemaking." He dips his head to your ear, nuzzling the hair there. You smell familiar and welcoming.

You go quiet for a while. "Is that...because you don't enjoy it?"

He pauses with one arm around your waist. "No. I wouldn't say that."

"O-oh. Okay. I was just wondering why, um, we hadn't...you know."

Realization creeps up on Vergil like a stalking cat. He presses his face into the curve of your neck. This is thorny territory, littered with unknown traps waiting to spring.

"I apologize for leaving you with questions," he murmurs into your skin. 

"No...but I guess I am wondering if it's you or me."

Vague unease skitters down his spine. "I do not follow."

You shrug in a motion he has come to recognize as a way of brushing off a vulnerability. "I thought that maybe you just didn't feel that way about me."

He sucks in a surprised breath. A coil of guilt constricts his chest. "No. It’s...not you."

There are nights when he paces the room restlessly, unable to bear the closeness of you, yet unable to leave. You are temptation made tangible, soft curves and liquid eyes, everything he never knew he wanted. Vergil cannot say he is only human, but part of him is, and that part yearns for such things.

"I see." You fall silent, probably musing his answer. It's hard to tell if you are disappointed, and he drops his forehead onto your shoulder with a sigh.

Vergil wishes he knew how to not ruin things.

"Honey?" You shift under him.

He lifts his head, hands sliding to rest lightly on your hips. "Yes?" 

"Do you want some dessert?" You twist around to look at him.

Vergil blinks at you. He doesn't really care for ice cream, but you are offering and it is better than your sharp-edged silence. "If you would like to share, yes."

It is abrupt.

In a show of speed he never expected from you, he is pushed back onto the bed, with you straddling him. You tilt your head at him, a smile playing about the corners of your mouth. Vergil's lips part in surprise. 

You place a hand on his chest. You are smaller than him, and certainly nowhere near as strong, but at this moment Vergil might as well be made of straw. You hold him there easily, with nothing more than your intent.

You lean back to spoon some ice cream into your mouth. A moment later, he is being kissed. It is electrifying. The ice cream, cold and sweet, melts on his tongue in a rich, decadent swirl. Behind the chill of the chocolate, your lips are soft and warm, coaxing a sigh out of him. Your tongue finds its way into his mouth, past his teeth, licking the remnants of the frost away.

Vergil hums his approval and drifts his hands over your back. He likes touching you here, in a million little ways. He can span your waist with his hands, as if he is measuring the breadth of his world. He can walk his fingers up your spine to elicit that delicious little shiver out of you. He can press his palm between your shoulders and recall that night he danced with you by candlelight. It’s a place only he can touch freely, a privilege that is proof of your love.

Of course, it is not as if he has not wanted to touch other, more intimate places.

You lift your head, licking your lips. It makes him want to nip them, and that thought takes him to darker, dangerous places about what else he could do to them. With them.

“So,” you start, bracing your hands near his head, “tell me what’s been bothering you.”

He keeps his face expressionless and draws a lazy circle just above the waistband of your shorts. “What do you mean?”

“If I’m not the issue, and you do actually like having sex, then I demand an explanation for why I haven’t been railed until I can’t walk straight.” 

Vergil is about to reply when you press your hips into his, sliding against him. It is clearly an illustration of what you want, and his traitorous body wants to oblige. He bites back a groan. 

“I…” His voice rasps more than he expected. “There are a number of reasons.”

“I’m listening.” You rest the entirety of your body on him in a languid stretch. Minx.

He raises his eyebrows at you. “It should be obvious that I am not entirely human.”

“I can hardly forget that when you come back drenched in demon blood everyday.”

“My strength can be...a hindrance.” Strange, how something he’d sought for so long would become the thing that hampered him.

“I don’t mind a few bruises, and I trust you to not kill me if you go blue. What’s next?”

His jaw tightens as he tries to form the sentence correctly. How easily you trust him to hold your life in his hands, as if he has never broken everything he touched. 

“Nero has made me...wary of intercourse.”

You smile and trail your fingers through his hair. The length he keeps slicked back gives in and loose strands brush his forehead. “That’s why contraception exists,” you reply.

“Hmph.” He holds out a last hope that his scorn will put you off, but even as he thinks it, it seems ridiculous.

“Is that all?” You continue running your fingers in his hair, soothing, lulling him into safety.

“I-” The words should be easier to say, but everything in him rebels at the idea of even so simple a weakness. “I am concerned...that it will not please you.”

You stare at him so long he starts to wonder if you’ve gone catatonic from shock. “What?” 

“It’s been...so long…” His hand tightens in your shirt, trying to press the air out of his lungs. “I was alone...over there.”

“Ah.” You flick his forehead with a smile. He scowls and grabs your wrist to keep you from trying it again. 

“Is that all? Silly.”

He frowns and tries to understand why you are making light of this. “Is this not a concern? I want it to be pleasurable for you.”

“It will be. I mean, maybe we won’t get it right the first time, or the second, or even the third, but you know what they say, practice makes perfect.” Your hands are roaming now, sneaking under the sleeves of his t-shirt to trace his biceps, trickling down into the dip of his elbows. He relaxes incrementally under the caress. 

“You are sure?” He tries again, mind trying to stay focused, but it’s hard to keep track when anticipation starts to drum in his limbs and your hands are skimming lower. 

“Mhm. Anyway, I’m not in it just to get a few orgasms out of it, though it would be nice if it happened.”

“You’re not?” He’s starting to sound ridiculous, echoing your words.

You squeeze his wrist, as if to reassure him. “It’s about feeling close. Closer. Sex is just, hrm, another way to have a conversation, isn’t it?”

His throat closes up in surprise. Vergil glances away. “I…”

“Just think about it, okay?”

But he doesn’t need to. There was a rightness to what you said, like a sword perfectly matched to a scabbard. It just fit. 

You bite your lip a little, instantly refocusing his attention on you. 

"I want to touch you," you whisper. 

A man would have to be some kind of monumental fool to say no to that. He gives you a curt nod and sits up against the headboard. You help him tug off his t-shirt, carelessly tossing it over your shoulder.

He has never been self conscious before, but his shoulders widen just a fraction under your appreciative gaze. You give him a coy, seductive glance that sets his veins simmering.

"How good is your control?" you ask, trailing a fingertip over his knee.

That's a ridiculous question, and he gives you an unimpressed stare for daring to voice it. 

"Alright then," you say lightly, "keep your hands on the headboard and don't move until I say so."

A challenge. He contemplates it for a moment. But only a moment, for Vergil would never refuse a test of will. He leans back and drapes his arms across the low iron frame, stretched out like a king on a throne. 

Delight sparks in your expression. It's amusing how easy it is to make you happy, sometimes.

Then he's distracted by you climbing into his lap, your soft lavender scent wrapping around him. You take a few moments to just look at him again, as if he's a painting and you're a viewer caught in the mystique.

Your eyes trace his arms where his biceps are flexed over the frame, lingering on his wrists and the length of his fingers. He makes a note of that for later, intrigued. 

Your attention turns to his chest afterwards. You seem to forget to be a passive observer. Vergil exhales a little as your hands begin skimming his collarbones. You stroke your fingers along them in a delicate rhythm. It is both soothing and maddening,a prelude to what could be if you would move your hands elsewhere. Then that teasing touch moves lower, tracing along the dip of his chest and the ridges of his stomach.

He wonders what you see that inspires that look of sultry desire and soft wonder. All he sees are the countless scars, some healed and some not, some visible and some hidden. What is it you find so fascinating?

As if you read his mind, you look up. "It's amazing," you murmur. "Your story is here, mapped out on your skin."

"And here I thought you were admiring my beauty," he quips, half-joking. 

"I certainly am," you breathe. "You're magnificent."

The sudden compliment brings heat to his face. Though Vergil has never been ashamed of his form, it has only ever been honed as a tool. It's strange, for him to do absolutely nothing and yet bring so much pleasure to someone else by existing.

"Aww, you're blushing."

"I am not," he growls. 

"Mhm. Hope you don't mind if I do this then."

You lean down and slowly press your mouth to the hollow of his neck. Your lips make their way down his torso, landing as lightly as butterflies but leaving starbursts of heat in their wake.

When you get to his waistband, Vergil's breathing is not as even as it could have been. He forgets to inhale altogether when he hears the familiar sound of a zipper opening. You’re no longer sneaking glances at him; like a child with a present, your focus is entirely on unwrapping him. 

“Mnh.” He bites down on a groan as you skim a fingertip down the front of his boxers.

You flash him a wicked grin and hook your fingers through his belt loops. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” he drawls. You waste no time removing all the remaining clothing on him. 

“Oh my,” you murmur, eyes widening at the sight of him. The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. He’s nowhere near fully aroused, though he suspects that won’t be the case for much longer.

You take to caressing his legs first, either as a tactic to toy with him some more, or just because it takes your fancy. From the gentle way you glide your hands up his ankles, he guesses it’s the latter. Vergil stills when you bend your head, your hair falling in a silken curtain. Surely you’re not going to-

“Fuck,” he curses he under his breath. Intense sensation blazes up his nerves as you plant kisses up his shin. A pleasurable shudder ripples down his spine when you lick at the sensitive spot behind his knee, the feeling as sharp and intoxicating as the blue of a flame. He grips the bedframe hard, only mildly registering it dent under his fingers.

You lift your head after a moment, satisfaction dancing at the edges of your smile. He watches you watching him, hunger building under his skin, waiting for the slightest provocation to be freed from its cage. He masks it with a lazy expression, lulling you into complacence. 

It works - lured closer by the prospect of surprising him again, you draw level with him again, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. He turns his head, intending to capture your lips with his own, but you pull back.

“Patience, honey,” you sing-song. “You waited this long, you can wait a little longer.”

He narrows his eyes, preparing to retort, but you’re already positioning yourself between his knees and then there’s no time for any kind of rational thought, because your mouth is on him. The sheer pleasure is beyond imagination. You are hot and wet and tight in all the right ways, and uninhibited in your enjoyment of his suffering. You grip the base of his shaft and begin stroking. His hips buck from the combined assault. 

Clouded by a haze of lust, he really can’t recall why he avoided this for so long. He needs to be in you, buried so deep you forget your own name.

“Enough,” he orders hoarsely after you swirl your tongue around the tip. “You’ve had your fun.”

You pull your mouth off him with a pop. The erotic sound goes straight to his core, fuelling the the blaze of desire. “I don’t know about that...I think I could keep going. Forever.”

Vergil clenches his hands around the headboard, making the iron creak in protest. “Do you want this bed to remain intact?”

“Okay, fine!” You lap at him one last time, and he is torn between amusement and exasperation at the clear reluctance on your face.

He reaches out and tightens his hands on your hips when you try to move off him. “First things first.”

“Huh?”

He moves his grip to your thighs, savouring the feel of you. The softness is exquisite. So much more than he allowed himself to imagine. Vergil hears your breath catch. He rubs his thumb over the satiny curve of your thigh, so that you cannot mistake his intentions. “Take it off.”

Colour floods your face. Now you’re the one looking uncertain. “R-really?”

Vergil glances at you. “I always pay back my debts. Start with your top.”

After a moment of hesitation, you do. He follows the trajectory of your camisole as you shimmy it over your head, hands claiming all of the beautiful, untouched skin that remained just out of reach until now. A rumble of satisfaction builds in his chest and spills out of his throat as a growl. 

“Mine.”

Your blush deepens, but you nod and reach behind yourself to undo your bra. He catches your wrists to stop you. When you understand what he wants, he draws the straps of the thin, lacy garment down your shoulders. He does it slowly, methodically, feasting on the sight of graceful collarbones and rounded shoulders. You arch slightly, purring in approval. 

Though your eyes flutter shut from embarrassment, you don’t shy away when he reveals your body to his gaze. Rather, you arch some more, offering yourself up to him. He traces a line down your sternum, the feral side in him pleased by the tribute. Vergil cups the soft weight of your breasts, kneading and squeezing gently, intrigued by the tactile pleasure the action brings. 

You tilt your head, watching him with heated fondness. He finds your expression even harder to resist than the allure of your skin, and soon he's lapping at your chest, lavishing kisses and licks on the straining peaks. Your reaction is immensely gratifying: you gasp and attempt to grind down on him.

He shifts his hips in response, pressing his burgeoning arousal into the space between your legs. The friction elicits a whimper out of you, and the helpless, wanting sound suddenly burns away the last of his cautious restraint. 

"Come here," he commands. Not waiting for you to comply, Vergil lifts you bodily and positions you to his liking. You let out a startled yelp as he spreads your legs wider. He hooks his fingers into your shorts. The flimsy fabric rips in one yank, leaving you exposed to his gaze. 

Vergil smirks at your startled expression.

“Now, what was that you said about being unable to walk?”

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted the man to catch a break from his own Feelings, okay


End file.
